close carry

i used to fall asleep in the car,

riding home at night after a

 

long outing. i remember the hum

of the road, the flashing head

 

lamps; i remember the sudden quiet

of the engine cutting off, daddy scooping

 

me up in his arms to carry me in. some

times a shoe would slip, a mumble, a word—

 

a hint that i wasn’t completely asleep;

but he would carry me up the stairs into

 

the house, up the stairs into my bed.

i don’t remember what was said: just

 

the strong arms around me, the

scent of man, of capability, of love.

 

later there would be times i would try

to recreate this safe feeling, this

 

extended touch, this close carry.

but it was never the same.

 

alone with you

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your arms around me, like a

tree; a thousand words unsaid,

passed tight between.



all the right words,

all the non-sounds i’m

climbing to hear.



with enough time,

any thing could

happen.



with you, all

things feel

possible.



an elemental joy-

ful-sad-ness holds,

tremors on the edge of



need in clear

view of

want.



i drive away, drive you

away, drive away from

my true self.


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